


Balanced on the Blades OR Falling Among the Jacaranda

by Genderhawk



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: ADHD Jester, ADHD Nott, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Autistic Caleb Widogast, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Mollymauk Tealeaf, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychotic mollymauk tealeaf, Residential therapy setting, Trans Caleb Widogast, Trans Female Character, Trans Fjord (Critical Role), Trans Male Character, autistic mollymauk tealeaf, figure skating AU, nonbinary jester lavorre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genderhawk/pseuds/Genderhawk
Summary: With the loss of a championship and his parents still so fresh, figure skating legend Caleb Widogast returns home to nothing and with nothing.  Nothing but guilt.  The years spent training with Coach Ickithon had led him to neglect himself and his family, but now he was free...  But is it freedom to be forced away from the one thing that makes you feel whole?Maybe Theyless and Tealeaf, a pair of newer skaters who come to Blumenthal to "train" in secret, will help him answer that question...AKA Figure skating AU, everyone will turn up eventually and it'll get gay pretty soon...Human, no magic.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I don't know how old anyone is. They're all adults.  
> 2\. The timeline? Who cares. My world now.  
> 3\. Editing? Proofreading? In THIS economy!? NobodyGotTimeForThat.gif
> 
> cw for misgendering, deadnaming, implied dysphoria, and parental death.

The rink in his hometown was nice, it had an elegance that belonged on a Broadway stage where it could sing about the old days when it was truly beautiful and well loved, and it had ice. The loss of the international competition followed followed within moments by the news of his parent’s deaths and the destruction of his childhood home… It was a lot. And so Caleb found himself tracing lazy rings around an empty rink. 

To the people of Blumenthal he was almost a nobody. Caleb was the adopted child of the head librarian and a veteran-turned-construction-foreman and, as such, he held little more than the reknown that follows anyone in such a small town. But he was a star now, or at least enough of one that the new management at the rink recognized him (by face or name, he wasn’t sure) and had allowed him free access to the rink, and there was the recent tragedy… No. He was here to skate. To fill his mind with the magic of spins and leaps. To let the cold air chase away the heat of the fire that destroyed his home, stole his parents, and changed his life. To skate until he was sore and tired so that maybe, just maybe, he could sleep. Caleb Widogast did not come here to mourn. 

It worked, eventually. And the moon, as it crests the peak of it;s journey across the sky, finds Caleb asleep in a tight ball with the scratchy covers of the motel bed in a rumpled pile on the floor near the corner of the bed where he slept soundly for the first time since coming home.

In his dreams he was in some city… The city was dark, the dark of midnight with stars above, and most of the buildings were made of dark and rough hewn stone. A male drow moved beside him, floating inches off the ground rather than treading upon it, and the light that illuminates the scene came from stars and from the glow of three colorful orbs of light that drifted along as the pair walked down cobbled streets.

It wasn’t a peaceful dream, for all that it was no nightmare. Flames erupted from his hands, monsters attacked, the friends he loved in the dream were often a mere hairsbreadth away from death… But he had power. Coach Ickithon was out of his waking life now, and in this dream he was dead. Caleb revels in the sense of freedom, the sense of power, that this dream gave. Caleb revels in the warm, purple, hand that cups his cheek… Caleb groans when the pressure of flesh vanishes, leaving only the warmth of sunlight through the dirty glass of the window of the Motel 6 and the ache of having skated too long after too many days of a hiatus to greet him as he blinks into wakefulness.

He’s on his feet and in the shower with robotic efficiency so it isn;t until he is dressed and halfway to the little cafe that had become the breakfast part of his morning routine. A cup of the black tea that is spiced with ginger and tumeric, a cheese danish, and the newspaper start the morning. He sips the tea every so often, forgetting each time that the liquid was still too hot to consume and burning himself, reading and mostly ignoring the danish. The first sip of tea that doesn’t scald is what Caleb swallows, enjoying it no longer as his eyes trace the letters on the paper.

‘Leofric and Una Widogast were beloved members of the Blumenthal community. Una’s storytime at the library, and the service to our mighty empire given by Leofric, have served to make our little town better. The loss of such bright lives will leave Blumenthal colder.’

The words, words he had approved only last week, weren;t the part that had him stunned. It was the picture that had taken his breath. He was there, a smiling child of three or four, and his papa was holding him. Mama was there too, her hand on his shoulder, and oh her smile… The pain of remembering was bittersweet until the words on the banner behind his parents clicked in his mind. The banner read “Happy Birthday Brenna!” which meant that the image was from his third birthday because, by his fourth birthday, Caleb had insisted on shortening his deadname to Bren instead. And of course, by nine, he was Caleb and that was that. 

“You okay there…?” The deep voice belonged to the man who was probably the owner of The Blooming Grove, somehow he’d snuck up behind Caleb, he had a neon green rag in one hand and a spray bottle of something that looked more like tea than cleaning solution… Caleb swallowed hard and nodded. He let the paper fold over to hide the childhood memory as he looked up into the warm, pink gaze of the firbolg who stood above him. The firbolg’s eyes were kind but the doubt was obvious across his features. 

“I’m… I’m fine, ja? Just… Just remembering.” The gentle warmth of understanding in the look that this earns him is as much of a punch to the gut as the sight of his deadname. As he scrambles to stand, Caleb shoves the remaining half of the danish into his mouth in a shower of crumbs.

As he flees the cafe it is only the weight of his coat, the length of it’s sleeves, and the pressure of the bag that held his skates over his shoulders that keep his hands mostly still and his breathing nominally calm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blumenthal may be small, but something big is about to happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is suddenly very personal. I'll be including a lot of traits that garner hatred in our society and many of them will be taken from my own list of character traits. 
> 
> I'm not going to talk publicly about which are mine and which aren't, I don't owe internet strangers that. But if you see yourself in this fic and need help? Reach out. 
> 
> Anyways! CW: drug mention, brief hallucination, dysphoria, panic attack

The smell of slightly burnt coffee, mystery fish with rice from lunch, and the layer of body spray and perfume that was used to cover the smell of depression was simultaneously overwhelming and comforting to the sensitive nose of one Mollymauk Tealeaf. It might seem a bit hypocritical for someone wearing more than three different scents and at least nine different fabrics (and more jewelry than some people owned a lifetime) to complain about something being too much or too busy. Molly, with his purple hair and more body mods than he could count on fingers and toes together was the picture of too much and the definition of too busy.

Some sad sack in a band t-shirt complained next to a middle aged housewife named karen or susan something-or-other about the food and about how a new housemate had eaten all the blueberry muffins in like two days and those were supposed to last the whole house for four days. Molly tuned them out, humming softly as he choreographed the routine he would be working on with Essek as soon as this god awful community forum was finished. 

The clipboard with the sign out sheet was by the door when the meeting was finally finished and, practice bag in hand, Mollymauk filled out one line as a line formed behind him. With a wave and a reminder about his standing pass for training, both directed at the “client care assistant” who manned the desk in the front room of the house, Molly was out the door and into Essek’s car. The deep purple interior leather, the sleek black body, and the gold detailing wasn’t exactly Molly’s style but it was complimentary for damn sure… (Even if the lack of head room, fro-hawk room readily, means he'll need the pick from his purse to build the height back) And the seat was comfortable, heated too, so that was good enough. The owner of the car wasn’t half bad either. Tall, dark, handsome, and quick as a whip with words and on the ice… The man fit perfectly into one of Molly’s many types.

For the first time since their arrival in Blumenthal there is someone on the ice when they arrive, a lone figure who glides across the ice with the ease of a man born to it for all that his shoulders are visibly tense even at this distance. Blumenthal had one place to practice though and, after a few moments of watching, Molly shrugged and began to stretch. Essek followed suit a moment later.

Unseen by the man on the ice until they sat to don their skates, the pair watched as he went through a simple routine. His clothes weren’t the type to train in, black slacks and a dark green sweater, but his skates were obviously quality and well cared for… And the way he moved said that he had trained, frequently and recently, which left Molly curious. And when Molly was curious he made bad choices.

Molly was on the ice before Essek noticed. Somebody noticed noticed though. As a brightly colored figure made his way across the rink in his direction, the man froze. Molly watched as his gaze flitter across the low slung and tight fitting leggings (galaxy print), his black crop-top that featured art inspired by renaissance art and drug use, the many bits of metal and (fake) gemstones that studded his face and his belly-button, before ending at the four inches of tightly coiled purple and green afro that comprised his current hairstyle. His gaze then fell down, not to meet his eyes as he had come to expect, but to gaze intently at the inner corner of his left eyebrow. He grinned, recognizing a trick he was all too familiar with.

Molly slowed to a stop before bowing deep and with a flourish, as he bowed he noticed Essek stepping into the rink and gliding towards them. He didn’t have much time before his self control caught up to him so he righted himself with yet another flourish.

~ Caleb ~

Caleb’s breathing may have calmed, but the crawling beneath his skin and the itch at the twin scars on his chest had not. He went to the only place he knew he would be safe, safe and alone. He went to the rink. He stretched and skated, prolonging his warm up routine until the awful sense of wrongness had receded enough for him to remember his former team. It was then, while lost in memories that ached in a way that could only be described as bittersweet, that the rink’s usual school day morning crowd was more than doubled.

Caleb was surprised and, as he usually does in times of fear, he froze. The terror melted away when he recognized the movements of a warmed up figure skater, but returned just as quick when he noticed the curve and swell of their hips, the way the loose t-shirt exposed belly and chest… His eyes skipped past the barest hint of exposed bosom that winked out as the shirt billowed around the brown skin, pausing for a moment at sparkling purple painted lips that he couldn’t let himself look at any longer... He tried and failed to count the piercings, he gave up after the sixth, and he let his eyes fall into the holding point that convinced the world he was making eye contact. He was about to say something when the stranger bowed low, purple hair nearly brushing his chest as the stranger stood once more.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf” the stranger popped a hip with a wink that had a blush creeping up his cheeks before the next words turned him a much more vivid red “But with eyes like yours? Call me Molly.”

~ Mollymauk ~

The moment that Molly spent admiring the blush that they’d inspired was interrupted much too soon by the pressure of a hand against the small of his back, Essek had reached them and so he pouted up at his partner and lover.

“Sorry about...” When Essek paused and the man in front of him dropped his gaze to Molly’s left wrist, Molly grinned. Essek was always so considerate to check the bracelets for their pronouns and so, when he saw all six of the different colors, he continued “...him.” Essek smiled and Molly laughed to show that it was a joke with no hurt feelings. We didn’t mean to interrupt it’s just that Molly only has so much time to train, and we need to stay in shape… Anyways, I’m Essek and since I’m no drama queen I’ll save you the last name...” 

Molly watches the two men shake hands and for a moment he sees amber skin shift into a dusky purple… But he shrugs it off and with a few quick blinks the world returns to normal. Dr. W would want to know about that, for sure, but without the anxiety there wasn’t a need to tell her about a hallucination that lasted such a short time… right?

Molly's brain caught up, processing the words slower than the shapes his lips made as the man finished introducing himself.

"Wait! Widogast? Icki-" molly cut himself off, caleb was alone and not dressed to train. Molly remembered, then, the rumors that the man's former coach had spread…. Whatever the truth of the situation was, it couldn't be good and he wasn't about to make it worse. It was too late though, from the way that caleb's face flinched before freezing into a masque of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genderhawk.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments keep the creativity koursing

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments Keep the Creativity Koursing!
> 
> This fic, like all my others, will but updated on the schedule as dictated by my whims+my inspiration+my ability to carve out time to write.


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